


Today Be Hell But Yesterday Be Glory Days

by Dogielder



Category: Ylvis
Genre: M/M, mentions of murder and blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogielder/pseuds/Dogielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You said you'd always be there to catch me when I fell.  Tell me... where did you go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only the Beginning, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Did you read the tags? Good. Just checking. I found this in a list of 100 story prompts, and decided to try writing it. This was as far as I got before my hands decided they'd had enough, so I apologize about the shortness.

Have you ever seen a floor covered in blood? At first glance there is a simple beauty to it and how it contrasts with the carpet. It doesn't immediately register that what you're looking at is actually blood. Slowly a stiffness builds up in your body as your mind begins to realize that the beauty is actually life's essence. Then what was a simple beauty becomes a repulsion. Seeing Marcus laid out with a meter wide red polka dot under him wasn't beautiful. It was down right hysterical. Not hysterical as in funny, hysterical as in I can't control my reaction kind of funny. I remember looking at Denise, who stared back at me, dumbfounded, and thinking just how bad this was, although I had not yet fully grasped just what had happened.

I simply stared down at Marcus, and it dawned on me that they had caught the entire thing on tape. I could feel everyone staring at me. People were always staring at me, here, but this time it was intense, it was the exact opposite of friendly, not waiting for the next joke or smoke bomb but instead with a trepidation, as though I would come up there and hurt them, as though I was a lion at the zoo. There was a wail as Denise started to cry. Vegard and Calle were frozen in where they stood. No one but Denise seemed to know what to do.

Vegard burst from his chair and pulled me away from the mess, and I stumbled. Calle was looking from the blood to Marcus's body, to me, back to the blood, and looking around at everything wildly. His eyes were huge. Jesus Christ. Why did they let me do this? I knew this was a terrible idea, but Vegard had managed to convince me to do it. Who was right now?

I could tell I was giggling, but also crying, and Vegard was holding me behind him, like he was trying to protect me. There was blood on my dress shoes, and Vegard pushed me back even further. Oh God, that was a lot of blood. How did the human body even contain that much? Calle had to jump off the stage to get around the puddle, but it was already dripping down off the edge.

I didn't feel good. It's not like you were supposed to feel good after accidentally murdering someone, but I felt like I might...

Click. The door shut. Someone gently shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes against the glare. I was laid out on the couch in my dressing room, and Calle was crouching down next to me. I could hear the roar of people rushing around outside, and someone was furiously banging on my door.

I blinked a few times to see right, then pushed myself into a sitting position. Calle set down the glass of water in his hand and helped me up.

"Did... did that really happen?" I asked him, haltingly. I didn't want to know the answer.

He pressed the glass into my shaking hands. After a pause, he nodded. I noticed that he was very pale.

I didn't drink any. "Oh God... I killed him, didn't I?"

"Marcus was pronounced dead ten minutes ago." Calle replied quietly. His eyes flicked down to the floor.

I stared down at the distorted image of my palm through the liquid and glass.

"You fainted," he continued, "but Vegard caught you. Then he set you down, and..." Calle paused again, looking hesitant. He looked up at me for a split second, then quickly back down.

"What? What did he do?"

"He disappeared."

I snorted. "Where could he have gone? Was there a puff of smoke?" I could tell I was still a bit hysterical.

When he looked up, Calle's eyes were serious. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when the pounding on the door abruptly stopped. Calle looked toward the door, and stood up. "Come on. You should get dressed in less fancy clothes and then we need to get you out of here."

It was only now that I realised that he was no longer in a suit, just normal clothing. He took the glass from me, then put out a hand to help me up, apparently sensing that I was still extremely shaky.

"Do you need help getting the suit off, too? We need to hurry." he looked down at my hand. Even in his grasp, it was trembling violently.

"Y... yeah."

Calle let go and slipped my suit jacket off my shoulders and tossed it aside. Normally I would tell him to hang it up properly, but if this went even more downhill, what would be the use of a good suit anyway? I may not even have my show anymore. I really didn't care, not now.

So I stood there and let him unbutton my dress shirt too, before he stepped back. "Can you get the rest off by yourself?"

I looked down at myself and nodded. "I think so..."


	2. The End, Or What Seems Like It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a difference between nightmares and night terrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm turning this into a Balle fic. I know some people don't want to read that, so if there's anyone who would enjoy making a non pairing version of this fic, message me and we'll work something out. Also, yes, there are time gaps between the events of each chapter, and, no, I'm not completely sure what I'm doing with this fic either. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer and a lot more edited than the first one, which I'm happy about.

Sometimes, it is not Marcus laying there on the carpet. Sometimes, it's my very own brother. It's his essence, gushing out and soaking the red. They almost match, but not quite. Just off enough to tell what's what. And I know it's my fault. I know that it's Vegard who will be pronounced dead at exactly 10:56:04 PM. That I fainted fourteen minutes before that, and fifteen minutes before he died, he was in the middle of it.

And I can only tell him how sorry I was, how he didn't deserve to die, that it was only an accident. But he can't hear me. I know it's going to happen, every time. It doesn't seem like a dream, not really, but when I wake up crying and sweaty and miserable, it has to be, doesn't it? Except, everything seems almost to be seen through champagne.

This time, I'm sobbing so hard I think I may be sick. "He didn't deserve it no no no no NO... not him oh God please no, I take it back, I take it ba-ack..."

I try to take a deep breath to calm myself down, but it catches in my throat, and I cough, and cry harder. Somehow, I notice that I've knocked over the water on my bedside table. The cup is on the floor (good thing it wasn't glass) and there is a sizable puddle, on the hardwood and pouring off the ledge of the table to join with itself.

I can't hear it through my cries, but suddenly Calle is there, nearly stepping into the puddle, before he leaves once more to go collect towels to wipe it up. Eventually, he gingerly sits down on the bed next to me. I've calmed down a bit, and the water is gone, save for a few little droplets slowly disappearing.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I don't manage to hiccup out a response.

"Well, uh, do you want to talk about it?"

Who the hell wants to talk about a nightmare they've just had? Again, he seems to see something in me, something that says 'no'. So, just as carefully as he sat down, he gently presses a hand against my back, right between my shoulderblades. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It's fairly awkward like this, but it's also comfortable. I like having his hand right there. We don't say anything for a time, and I am calm.

I take one of those hiccupy just-crying breaths, and have to move away from his touch.

"What are you...?" he sees where I'm reaching. "No, put the phone down, Bård."

He doesn't stop me, just sighs and watches as I hit the button to call Vegard. I am wishing and wishing that he picks up. It goes to voicemail. "He didn't pick up."

"Bård... I warned you."

It hurts even more to hear that he knows, just as I do, that Vegard wouldn't answer. I call him at least five times a day, usually more, but he never picks up. I haven't seen him since a few weeks ago, the haziness before I fell unconscious at the studio. That's the last I remember, and then nothing. Nothing from him for sixteen days. No phone calls, no texts, nothing. It was starting to really piss me off.

"I knew he wouldn't answer."

"Then why do you call?"

"Because I _hope_ he'll pick up, you know? I hope that he'll forgive me and respond; that he'll realise it was an accident." But I'm pretty sure that nothing I will do would help. I don't say that last part though.

Calle just sighs again, looking to the floor.

(why would Vegard not answer?)

(it's not like I meant it-)

(wait a second-)

"You talk to him, don't you! You call him and you talk about this whole freaking thing when I'm not around!"

"I-"

"I know you do!"

I'm being loud enough to wake Kaja up now-

" _Bård!_ " Calle says, quietly, but I can hear it. I calm down again, and he pulls me down to the bed, because I had stood up during my bout of anger. He pushes me down until I'm laying and puts the covers over me.  Then he gets up and just leaves.

"Go back to sleep," he says, before shutting the door behind him.

I want to get up, tell him no, don't go, but I'm suddenly exhausted. I haven't been sleeping well; the nightmares come almost every night, blood and everyone staring and the look on Vegard's _face_ \- I tell myself to calm down. That was over two weeks ago, this is now. Right now I am somewhere safe and Calle and Kaja are somewhere else in the house and I have nothing to worry about, not right now.

(except Vegard won't-)

Stop.

(he doesn't like you anymore)

I bury my face into the pillow, not my pillow, not for real anyway. This is the pillow in the guest bedroom at Calle and Kaja's house. I want to punch someone, and a kind of wave of FUCK YOU hits me hard. I stay like this, unable to breathe, until I feel slightly on the edge of unconsciousness, and shift onto my side so I can take a breath. That feeling is still thrumming through my chest and stomach, but now feels somehow contained.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, and close my eyes.

When I wake up, I tell myself, he'll have called me and all will be forgiven.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a potential update schedule: originally, I was going to update once a week, but that obviously wasn't happening. I am going to try to update about once every two weeks, but right now things are especially hectic, so I apologize in advance. 
> 
> Also, please tell me if there's anything I need to fix! Names, dates, places, ect. I'm also trying out a new writing style with this, so any constructive criticism is much appreciated!
> 
> (also I have no clue why I write so many people with such bad dreams they have trouble sleeping and feel they might throw up)


	3. Resolution Means Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all I could think was... FINALLY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four may take a bit longer to come out, since lots of stuff is going on right now for me, so I apologize right now. Sorry if the ending seems rushed or abrupt! Enjoy!

Calle shifted closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Another bad dream?"

"Why are _you_  up?" It wasn't like I didn't absolutely love his company, but it was one in the morning and I hadn't made any noise apart from the creaks of the floorboards when I came out here on the couch. The TV was on, but almost on silent. I enjoy watching late night/early morning stuff like this.

He shrugged and gave one of those smiles. "The cat woke me up."

"But not Kaja." I raised an eyebrow at him. What, exactly, was he trying to convince me of? He was an even heavier sleeper than I was; Kaja would've most definitely woken up before him.

He shrugged again and turned his attention to the show.

"What is this?" he asked, after a pause.

"No clue."

He frowned. "Hmph. This show is really weird."

"And the show you were on with me isn't?" I turned my head to look at him, and I only then realised how close we were to each other, my arm pressed up against his side, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing my other shoulder gently. Somehow it didn't feel bad, or wrong, or anything like that. It just felt good.

He smiled again and pulled me closer.

...

In the morning, I woke to the sun splashing itself over my face. I was still on the couch, under the blanket from the back of the couch that most definitely hadn't been on me last night, the TV was off, and Calle was gone from the spot where he had been cuddled (was that even the right word? Was it okay to say that we were doing that sort of thing?) up against me. I had no clue as to when he had left, on a normal bed I could move and feel the comforting warm spot (comforting, when did I think of Calle as the sort of comforting that isn't just a friend), but on a couch and in the position we had been in, it would be impossible.

This made me a little sad. I don't know why, but the fact that he left me alone like this without a trace just made my stomach feel slightly odd. It would've been bad if his girlfriend had seen us like that, definitely, but, you know... it was always nice to wake up with someone curled up next to you.

I wandered as quietly as I could back to my room, checking the kitchen clock as I went. (Six forty-seven.) I slunk back under my covers, and, as usual, I checked my messages.

And my stomach lurched.

One new voicemail, it read. From Vegard.

I stared at my phone. Days and days of waiting, hoping for anything, something. Now that I had one... I didn't really want to listen to it, in all honesty. I was terrified of what it might say. Confirmation that he didn't like me anymore? Hesitantly, I pressed the button and held it up to my ear.

"Uhm, hi, Bård. I... I'm sorry about how I've been treating you, okay? And, and I want to make it up to you... So I'm coming over to Calle's house for dinner." and then he hung up.

Holy crap. I felt slightly lightheaded and my heart was pounding. Holy shit was more like it. It was like a mantra. _OhmyGodHolycrapdAMNityesI'vebeenwaitingforthisHoLYfuck..._

I listened to the voicemail a few more times to make sure I wasn't delusional, hoping so much he would contact me and tell me it was okay that I had imagined the whole thing. It didn't seem to be. My whole body was pretty much buzzing, and I obviously couldn't go back to sleep now. I want to dash to Calle's room and tell them, but they're both probably still asleep, and I still dont't feel like I should wake anybody.

But this is /important/, I reasoned. Shouldn't I tell them? But again it's only seven in the morning. We have time until dinner.

(but you're scared of what Vegard might say when he comes over)

(you think he might be lying)

I roll excitedly out of bed, and there's a brief internal struggle over whether I should get dressed or take a shower or eat breakfast. I decide on food and scuttle to the kitchen, but my appetite has been severely diminished due to what's just happened. So I make myself a cup of coffee and pace around as I drink it.

It's occurred to me that Vegard didn't actually specify _when_  he would be coming over, and I stop next to the sink. ... About sevenish, I'm thinking. Six thirty, seven. This walking around with a warm cup between has calmed me down sufficiently, and I allow myself to smile. I'm going to get to see Vegard tonight. Three weeks of nothing. Now a (hopefully) calm night with some of my favorite people.

(what about your wife and children?)

I don't let myself think of that, because there's the creak of a floorboard and I look up to see Calle standing in the doorway.

"Morning." he murmurs, and shifts a little.

His hair is messy. I like this.

"Morning," I say back, and take another sip.

"It's seven in the morning, why are you up?" Calle walks forward and opens a cabinet for seemingly no reason.

I pause for a second. "Why are _you_  up?"

He grins at me, then closes the cabinet and takes a few quick steps until he's standing right in front of me. Then he plucks the mug out of my hands and takes a gulp. Calle makes a face of disgust.

"You make your coffee weird," he says, and sets it down on the counter next to me.

"Hey, I was gonna-" I start to protest, but am interrupted when he steps forward and kisses me.

 

 

 


End file.
